


Lay Me Down (I'll Rest In the Snow)

by ThinkoftheWindandSun



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28255986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThinkoftheWindandSun/pseuds/ThinkoftheWindandSun
Summary: It's been almost a year since the war ended, and the clones have made their home on an otherwise uninhabited planet near the Outer Rim. As Lifeday nears, Domino Squad takes it upon themselves to create a celebration for their brothers, one that they can celebrate for years to come.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20
Collections: Star Wars Secret Santa 2020





	Lay Me Down (I'll Rest In the Snow)

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am I affiliated with, Star Wars in any of its forms.
> 
> This is a secret santa gift :D Hope you enjoy!!
> 
> Mando'a (Mandalorian Language) Translations:
> 
> vod -- sibling (in this case, brother)
> 
> vod'ike -- dearest siblings (plural)

Hevy puttered around the kitchen humming softly to the song Echo was singing. The kitchen was full of good smells and the warm heat of ovens at work. His apron was messy, his hair was braided up into a bun, and he felt great.

On the far side of the kitchen Echo belted out another verse. Briskly stirring a pot of gelatin-juice mix. On the counter sat a series of silicon moulds—in all variety of fun shapes. Helmets, jetpacks, little jedi, and even a few starships. The tray of tooka was already cooling in the fridge. Full of peppermint chocolates.

Hevy’s side of the kitchen was no less busy. There were several large pots simmering away on the stove. Full of sweetly spiced Muja cooking down into a cider. From the oven itself came a heavy spiced-meat smell that made him feel warm down to his bones.

He hummed another series of notes and danced his way to stir the cider. It was simmering down nicely. Enough so that he was tempted to taste it.

It took a lot of self-control not to. Self-control, and the knowledge that he could make another batch for himself later.

Instead, he turned his attention to setting up a new pan on the stove. A wide, deep pan for the tiingilar.

Now, the tiingilar that clones made was different from that made by those raised as Mandalorians. For one thing, they didn’t have access to the same spices or ingredients. For another, they weren’t raised by a Mandalorian.

Oh, Jango was their prime, that was true enough. But he hadn’t cared for them. He had Boba—the rest of them were disposable.

No, their tiingilar was taught to them by the Alphas. Who were trained by Jango and the Cuy’val Dar. And so, had some knowledge of Mando’a and Mandalorian traditions. They had passed these onto their brothers. And these had become their traditions, different from a Mandalorian-raised well, Mandalorian.

Hevy had never tasted Mandalorian tiingilar. But he had once eaten some of Alpha-17’s clone tiingilar. It had been eye-opening.

After that, Hevy had done everything he could to teach himself all the recipes he could. Alpha-17 hadn’t been very helpful. But Fordo had given in and taught him the tiingilar recipe after a bit of hassling.

The first thing he had done when the war ended and Domino was planning their new home, was to secure himself a nice large kitchen. The others had been happy to give him his space. So long as they got their own spaces too.

Echo alone had made requests for the kitchen as well—ones that Hevy was happy to agree to. Anything to get some of Echo’s delicious baking.

There were three large ovens. Two stovetops set into the counter; and marked off so that no one set their elbows on it by accident. The sink was industrial size. Large enough to fit huge pots in without splashing water everywhere. 

And the fridge! It was truly a work of art.

As wide as five brothers standing shoulder to shoulder, and slightly taller. It could fit all the ingredients they needed for their cooking and baking.

That fridge was exactly where he went after setting his pan on the stove. He dug through the shelves and the drawers. Gathering the ingredients needed to make his tiingilar. Root vegetables, tubers, some mild fruit, milk, stock leftover from a batch made the other day.

And, of course, the pan of synthmeat he had cut up earlier that morning. Technically speaking, you were supposed to let your meat warm up a bit before cooking it. But they didn’t have the counterspace for that with all the different foods they were making.

Chopping everything up and mixing it into the pan with the right timing was mostly just busywork. The kind that let Hevy’s mind wander and his humming go on unchecked.

He turned to grab a wooden spoon from the jar on the counter.

Behind him, Echo turned with a tray full of cookies.

Their hips bumped. Hevy tilted one way, Echo the other. And the tray of cookies almost launched to the air. They both scrambled to get their feet under them. Echo caught they tray of cookies at the last second. Wobbling it side to side to keep the cookies from sliding right off.

He shot Hevy a waspish look.

“Eh, heh, sorry,” said Hevy.

He didn’t point out that maybe Echo should have been watching where he was going. Maybe Echo should apologize too. He didn’t point that out, because he didn’t want things to devolve into a brawl. Which Echo—ARC trained and capable of throwing Hevy over his shoulder like a sack of tubers—would certainly win.

After a moment Echo huffed softly and relaxed. The tension eased out of his shoulders. He even went so far as to grin.

“We’re good,” said Echo. “Just don’t tell Droidbait we almost ruined the cookies.”

They both winced. Echo might throw Hevy across the mats, but Droidbait would give him that disappointed look. Maybe even tear up a little bit. That was a fate far worse than testing Echo’s temper.

After that near miss it was a slightly more cautious Hevy who returned to the stove. The thought of ruining his or Echo’s hard work sat uneasy in his stomach. The last thing he wanted was to ruin the big surprise.

He peeked at the cider, glanced at the timer, and turned off the heat. The pot he picked up and set on a trivet he had laid out on the counter earlier. Then he set about mashing the fruit with the back of the spoon. After so many hours boiling and simmering away it was an easy task. Hevy hardly had to put an effort into it. Even with the size of the batch he had made.

After that was done, he got out the cheesecloth and began to ladle the cider in. Once the cheesecloth was loaded up, he took it in his hands. And began to squeeze the liquid through.

Cutup wandered in at some point after the cider began to strain. He dipped his fingers in the cookie icing, picked at the edges of the fudge, and made a general menace of himself.

Echo left him to his annoyances for a bit. Waiting until he got close enough that he could pull him into a headlock. Making him drop the caramel he was in the process of stealing.

“Are you going to keep trying?” Echo asked.

“Maybe,” said Cutup, because he never knew when to quit.

Hevy cleaned out the chunks from the cheesecloth and started the process of straining again. He listened with half an ear as the two continued to bicker.

By the time he was halfway finished straining the cider Cutup had wandered over.

“What are you making?” Cutup asked.

“Muja cider, tiingilar, sweet-glazed spicy greens, and cabbage leaves stuffed with spiced bantha,” said Hevy.

“No spiced chocolate? No malt?” Cutup asked.

“Echo’s on the one to ask for sweets, and we still haven’t figured out how malt works,” said Hevy.

“Give us a couple of weeks,” said Echo, slightly muffled. He popped his head out of the fridge to give Cutup the stink eye.

Cutup rolled his eyes. He didn’t argue, though.

Echo snorted and ducked back into the fridge.

“Think that’ll be enough?” Cutup asked, turning back to Hevy.

“Probably,” said Hevy, eyeing up the ovens thoughtfully. “At least with all of Echo’s desserts there should be enough to go around.”

“As long as the 91st is off-planet at least,” said Echo.

Those men could pack away food like it was a championship sport. They had practically weaponised the already advanced metabolisms of the clones. It would have been nice to have them on-planet for the surprise. But they would save some gifts for their return.

Speaking of presents…

“Vod, help me out a second,” said Hevy.

With a bit of co-ordinating he directed Cutup about the kitchen. Having him stir the tiingilar and check on the food in the oven while Hevy strained the cider.

When he was done, he washed his hands, corked the cider jug, and teamed up with Cutup to get all the food into travel safe containers. Soon there was a collection of lidded casserole dishes on the counter next to the jug. Tied with twine to keep the lids from shifting while moving.

Cutup clapped his hands and dusted them off as though he had done something truly difficult.

Hevy rolled his eyes and slapped him on the shoulder.

It devolved into a minor battle. Slaps and punches and trying to strongarm each other into falling over. Echo sidestepped them with yet another tray of cookies, expression serene.

Their wrestling was broken up when Echo came back with a bowl full of flour. Which he upended over their heads with a smirk.

“Cutup can help me with the desserts. Hevy, go check on Droidbait and Fives,” said Echo, over their yelps.

Grumbling and swiping flour from their faces, they followed his orders.

Fives’ workshop was located in the back of the house, off a side door. It was usually open. A silent invitation for them to come in and chat while he worked. The exception was while he was doing detail work. Then the door was fully closed.

Something about them being distractions. Which was fair. They were pretty distracting.

Still, Hevy was pleased to see that Fives’ workshop door was open as he approached. For one thing, it meant that he was probably just putting the finishing touches on his gifts. For another, it meant Hevy didn’t have to come back later.

He knocked a fist on the doorframe in passing.

Across the room, two heads popped up and swung about to stare at him. After a moment both Fives and Droidbait turned back to their work.

Upon approaching the table, Hevy could see what exactly they were doing.

Scattered across the surface of the table were dozens of small boxes. Some of them were already closed and tied with ribbons. Others were still open, lids propped to the side. Droidbait was stuffing boxes with little bits of scrap fabric, while Fives carefully laid his work inside and shut them up. Then Droidbait would take the boxes and tie them up with ribbon, setting them aside.

Hevy watched for a while. A little bit intrigued by the process. Mostly mesmerized by the shine of the ribbon as it reflected the overhead lights in scattered rainbows.

Eventually he blinked back to himself and said, “Food’s packed up. Cutup’s helping Echo with the desserts. How’s it going down here?”

“We’re almost done,” said Droidbait.

“Bait’s stuff is all packed up already,” said Fives, nodding his head at a couple of crates packed up to the side.

“Good. We’re on schedule then,” said Hevy.

“We don’t have a schedule,” said Droidbait.

“Eh,” said Hevy, shrugging.

It sounded cooler than anything else he could have said. What, was he supposed to say they were “managing their time well?” That just sounded awkward

And anyways, he wanted everything done by late afternoon. So that everything was properly bright and snowy when they set up.

Sure enough, within an hour all the food and presents were crated, and packed away onto sleds. They bundled up in warm clothes and took off for the nearby park at a jog. It wasn't really a park. It was more of a wide patch of empty land with a gazebo at one end.

It was perfect for their purposes.

They didn’t even have to send out a message to summon their brothers. As Hevy set out the foods he had made their smells wafted into the crisp air. The breeze carried it towards the general housing.

Within ten minutes there was a scattering of clones making their way to the gazebo. More and more of them on the horizon.

Fives muttered something to Droidbait and got an elbow in the ribs.

Rex was the first one to reach them, already scanning their set up with his eyebrows raised. Likely anticipating some kind of mischief. Which was fair, but also a bit uncharitable considering the pile of food Hevy was hard at work unveiling.

“What’s going on here?” Rex asked, folding his arms.

“We’re having a celebration,” said Hevy.

“A celebration,” repeated Rex.

“Yeah.” Echo leaned over Hevy’s shoulder with a wide smile. “And don’t worry; we’ve put the whole thing together ourselves.”

“That sounds more worrying, actually,” said Rex.

But he smiled to soften the blow.

“What are we celebrating?” Cody asked, as yet more of their brothers came to a stop in front of the table.

“Brotherhood,” said Echo.

“Brotherhood?” Cody echoed.

“A celebration of the brothers who are marching on,” said Echo.

“Well then, let’s celebrate,” said Cody.

A cheer went out through the growing crowd. Wolffe elbowed his way forward to stand next to Cody. Peering down at the food with a bland expression.

“You don’t expect us to eat with our hands do you?” Wolffe asked.

“Droidbait’s got that covered,” said Hevy.

Sure enough, Droidbait rifled through a nearby crate, then stepped forward. In his hands was a ceramic bowl and mug. Glazed white with grey markings. On the inside of the bowl was the Wolfpack symbol.

“There are bowls and mugs for everyone,” said Droidbait.

Wolffe looked impressed, in that blank, mildly-reluctant way he had. He took the offered mug and bowl, and let himself be served. Then he nodded at them and wandered away to go eat.

A few brothers bypassed eating altogether to start up a mildly violent snow fight. It looked like Nova Corps versus a team including Dogma and Tup. It was hard to tell who was winning. But everyone was laughing, so it had to be good. 

Jesse had a bright blue garland thrown over his shoulders. He twirled to show it off. Kix shoved at his shoulder with a laugh and winked at them when he wasn’t looking. His own shaved head decorated with an obnoxiously glittery blue bow.

They grabbed their bowls and mugs from Droidbait happily. Taking deep portions of the stuffed cabbage and sweet-spiced greens. When their bowls were overflowing, they circled back to Droidbait.

Droidbait grinned, all sheepish pride. He sank into embraces and laughter with the grateful joy of a man relieved. Let brothers scrub their hands over his shaved head.

After that bit of cheer Kix turned to the rest of them with a crooked smile.

“So, if Hevy did the cooking and Echo did the baking, and Fives and Droidbait did the presents, what did you do?” Kix asked.

Oozing self-satisfaction, Cutup spread his arms and did a little twirl. Showing off the bulky woolen sweater he had knitted himself. It was a dark blue, and had tiny stylized clone troopers marching across it. At the back it had a tiny Rex shooting an oversized Sidious.

Kix raised his eyebrows.

“Cute,” he said.

“Thanks,” said Cutup, preening a bit. His expression turned a bit mean, even as he nodded at some of the crates over by Echo’s desserts. “Yours are in there.”

That had them scrambling away with excuses. Cutup’s laughter followed after them, echoing brightly through the crisp winter air.

By the end of the celebration, he would have everyone in their sweaters, Hevy knew.

While the rest of them manned the tables, Fives was mingling amongst their brothers. Handing out little boxes every once and a while. But generally, just spreading laughter and bruised shoulders.

More than one brother was left teary eyed in his wake. Not just from the aches he left them with either.

As he served up the last of the cider, Hevy put out serving spoons for people to start serving themselves. Then he went off to check on Fives, and make sure he didn’t have to do any damage control.

Fives could be… a bit heavy handed.

He got there just as Fives was approaching Boil.

“This one’s for you. Hope you like it,” said Fives.

He passed the small box over.

Boil made a low noise in his throat, eyes wide. He reached into the box and pulled out the little figure. He cradled it in his hand like it was the most precious thing he had ever held.

Slowly, carefully, he ran his fingers over the details. The little helmet. Across the paint on the chest plate.

“A little Waxer,” said Boil. He cleared his throat and blinked several times. “Yeah. Yes, vod, I love it.”

He ran his thumb over the tiny helmet again.

As Fives threw an arm over Boil’s shoulder, Hevy slipped away. He didn’t want to intrude on the moment. Boil would be horrified if he found out anyone had seen his tearful reaction.

The short walk back to his table of food was made longer by the numerous times he had to dodge around little knots of brothers. Some of them chatting. Some of them lightly roughhousing. All of them full of that bright cheer that seemed to radiate around them.

Not too many were lingering around the table. Mostly just members of the old Coruscant Guard. They were nibbling at Echo’s treats and sipping at cider. Their faces looked younger than usual. Lines of tension eased with comfort. With joy.

Thire was in the midst of some kind of joke, judging by the smirk and the way Fox and Stone were cackling. Hound was a few metres away with Grizzer. The both of them covered in snow and looking pleased with themselves. There were imprints in the snow that looked… mostly like a pair of lumps. Maybe there were wings on the human-ish indent. It was hard to tell.

“Thanks for this,” said Sinker, slinking up to him and offering him a rare, wide smile. There was a sparkle to his silver hair—snow settling on and glittering like little gems. “Wolffe won’t say it, but he appreciates this kind of thing.”

“Celebrations?” Hevy asked.

“Remembrances,” said Sinker.

The Wolfpack, Hevy remembered belatedly, was massacred at the start of the war. Hevy hadn’t been off Rishi yet when that had happened. He had heard about it second-hand. And he hadn’t spent as much time with the 104th as Droidbait had.

Still. This was a celebration of the brothers that were marching on. And the Wolfpack deserved to be remembered.

“Tell me about them,” said Hevy.

Sinker blinked at him, clearly startled. Then he grinned, bright and a bit bittersweet, and dropped down to sit cross-legged in the snow. He started up a rousing story of a couple of shinies who had made a mess of themselves in front of Wolffe. Boost loped over shortly after, followed by a wide-eyed Comet.

Wolffe appeared at some point. Hevy could hardly say when. But he was stood there with his arms crossed, hip pressed against Bly’s. He even snorted and rolled his eyes when Boost and Sinker got into bickering over minor details.

Soon enough other brothers were drifting closer, cradling their mugs and sharing in the laughter.

And together they shared stories until moonlight reflected on the snow. Cool and shining and beautiful. And they laughed. And they cried.

And they celebrated until they had to run inside with sore cheeks and numb noses. Each of them feeling lighter than they had come out.

It took a bit of work to clear everything up and packed away into the crates. By the time they were done most of their brothers had left. Only a few stragglers remained, and Domino Squad.

They packed up the crates onto the sleds and began to pull them back to their house, wishing good nights to those they passed.

Tup and Dogma were still breathless with laughter, covered in snow from their ill-fated snowball fight with Bacara and the Nova Corps. They waved cheerfully as they passed.

Rex briefly fell into step with them. Patting their shoulders and offering them thanks for the celebration. Then he peeled off again and trotted off on his own way.

Halfway home they passed by a group of the Guard. They were sat about on a bench chatting away. Like it wasn’t freezing cold and dark out.

Fox stopped them as they passed to say, “Thorn would have loved this. Thanks, vod’ike.”

The other Guards muttered similar sentiments. All of them cozied up in the sweaters Cutup had knit. Theirs were a deep red, and Hevy could just make out a big massif eating Sidious’ robes on the back.

Never let it be said that Cutup didn’t have a sense of humour.

After that interruption they made it back home at a good clip. Unloading the crates into their living room and lounging about in various states of relaxation. Echo was still rummaging through the crates. Seeing what they had left to snack on themselves, most likely.

“Did you miss someone, vod?” Echo asked, frowning into the crate. “There’s still a couple of boxes left.”

“Nah,” said Fives.

He got up fished out the boxes and presented them to the rest of Domino. Opening them up with little fanfare. Revealing the tiny O’Niner, Nub, and CT-327. None of them had any paint on their armour in life, so Fives had put little engraved plaques beneath their feet.

“Oh,” said Echo quietly.

“They deserve to be remembered too,” said Fives.

They did.

Together the five of them posed the little figures on a nearby shelf. So that they were standing proud behind their plaques. Droidbait weaved a bit of sparkly garland strung with warm white lights between their feet.

Then they sat back and settled in to snack on the last of their food.

Their celebration complete. Their brothers remembered with all the fondness they deserved. And they ended their night happy.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a lot of fun to write and I hope it lived up to your wishes! Have a very happy holidays!


End file.
